


Summer Showers

by Previously8



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, well maybe a little bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Previously8/pseuds/Previously8
Summary: Includes, but is not limited to: lots of staring, one (1) mention of chia seeds, Neil Josten's new phone, the colours blue, green, and orange, talk of walls, a visit to Home Depot, and "452%". Rated T for swearing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set really vaguely post-canon with no TKM spoilers because fuck if I can remember the important details of that. This is also set pre-cats because that's a whole other thing. 
> 
> I would like to thank Meredith for inspiring this-- I want to help you paint your walls so we can both die of toxic fumes bc one of us has forgotten to open the window. That has nothing to do with this fic. 
> 
> ~~I wrote this like three months ago and forgot it existed.~~ In any case, enjoy.

When Neil returned from the store, Andrew was standing motionless, staring intently at the wall.

Over the many years since he'd first started school at Palmetto, Neil had come to the point where he could usually tell which impassive gaze was which—the "I am bored of this conversation and of you" stare, the "Murder is high on the list of things I'm thinking about right now" stare, and the stare that preceeded "Yes or no?" were all subtly different. Neil knew he wouldn't be able to describe the differences if anyone asked: it was a sort of instinctive comprehension, brought on by intimacy and a form of trust that rejected the need for there to be a "this" at all. 

But Andrew's gaze wasn't any of those three this time around, at least not that Neil could interpret. This was a head-tilting, considering stare. 

At the wall. 

It was a blank wall, white and lacking artwork. They'd moved into this condo together nearly six months ago, but the season had started just as they'd settled and playing pro left no time for home decorating. Their last apartment had at least had a framed picture of the Foxes in the entryway and a painting of a forest done by one of the freshmen in the kitchen. Both pieces were still buried in one of the unpacked boxes sitting in their bedroom. (Let it never be said that the two of them were functionally organised when their lives weren't on the line.)

As such, Neil failed to see the interest Andrew had in the wall. 

"Hey," he said, and Andrew rolled his head to meet Neil's eyes. He couldn't read anything from his eyes either. 

A slight frown graced Andrew's forehead. "Accosted by fans, were you." It was a question said like a statement—a known truth, no need to ask. Neil wondered what in his expression or demeanour had given it away.

"Just one," Neil told him, kicking off his shoes on the hall mat. "He wanted an autograph so I wrote my name on his grocery reciept." He put the bag of groceries on the ground and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it with the others. Andrew was still watching him. "Speaking of groceries," he nodded to the bag, "there's a package of Oreos in there. I'm looking forward to the press asking if you've gone vegan."

"You're such a shit." Andrew rolled his eyes but stepped forward and grabbed the bag, tilting it to see the contents before asking, "the fuck are chia seeds?"

Neil shrugged easily, heading to the kitchen. Andrew followed two steps behind with the groceries. "Healthy? If you actually followed the new dietician's meal plan you'd know."

He sensed rather than saw Andrew's eye roll. The bag was placed on the kitchen island, and Andrew moved magnetically to Neil's side. Neil his torso to face him.

This was the patented "yes or no?" look. Neil nodded. Andrew leaned up and pressed his lips to Neil's. It was a rare and gentle kiss with none of the often-found desperation or indifference behind it and Neil smiled when Andrew stepped away again. "Honey, I'm home," he sing-songed just to see Andrew scowl.

"Shut the fuck up." 

They put away the groceries in sync—one thing Neil had learned from living with another person for extended amounts of time was that there were actual designated places for foods in the fridge: fruits in the bottom left drawer, yoghurt and jam on the top shelf, and so on. Apparently, this kept the whole bumping into each other thing to a minimum. Of course, it could also be that Neil was so attuned to Andrew's presence that having him there was like having his shadow following him anywhere.

It was quiet: the TV was off in the main room, and the kitchen window was closed.

There were only two things on the back of the fridge door. One, a wedding invitation to Erik and Nicky's wedding which Neil had put on the fridge to avoid forgetting. Two, the weekly meal plan, provided by their team's dietician, a cheerful woman named Anisa. Neil checked that now, and pulled out the required ingredients. Tonight's meal was apparently supposed to be rice and cauliflower. 

"I'll cook," Andrew said. Neil acquiesced this with a nod and stepped around the island to the chairs on the opposite side. 

Taking a seat, he pulled out the shiny new smartphone his teammates had pushed him into getting ( _you need emojis in your life_ , Josie, an intimidating backliner of 6'1, had promised, pressing it into his hands. _We as a team need you to have emojis in your life_ ). So far, the only thing that made this one better than the last was the access to internet. He put his phone on the counter. 

"So," he started. "What was with the wall earlier?"

Andrew didn't answer, measuring out rice and water and putting it in the microwave. A few forceful presses of the buttons later, the microwave hummed to life. He began to wash the cauliflower. Neil watched, tapping a finger on his knee.

The microwave had counted down to 33 seconds before Andrew answered. "I think we should paint the walls."

In all honesty, that had not been what Neil was expecting. He paused a second too long in answering, and Andrew's chop of the cauliflower became a bit more forceful. "Why? What colour?"

"Blue. Or green or something." Andrew had put actual thought into this decision, Neil realised. This _meant_ something to him. Another surprise to Neil, but this time he recovered much more quickly.

"What, not orange?" he teased.

"Junkie," Andrew retorted. He threw the vegetable pieces into a pot with water. 

Neil noticed that Andrew hadn't answered his first question, but didn't point it out. "So, just the hall wall or...?"

Andrew was quiet. Water gurgled in the pot.

And the topic was dropped, at least for that evening. Neil stayed up late watching reruns of old games on the couch, and Andrew went out on their small balcony to have a few cigarettes. It was the kind of relaxed evening that a Neil on the run would scarcely dare dream of, but the kind that ended the majority of his days now. He was getting better and better at believing it.

\---

At ten o'clock the next morning, Andrew walked into the living room and told him, "we're going on a drive."

He raised his eyebrows, but Andrew turned away, car keys in hand, without offering anything more. Neil got to his feet, grabbed shoes and a coat, and followed Andrew to the car. Andrew was already sitting on the driver's side when he got there, fiddling with the seat height, so Neil dropped into the passenger's seat.

"So, where are we going again?" Neil asked as Andrew pulled out of the parking garage. 

He didn't answer, and flipped on the radio. 

Neil didn't mind. Obviously, they weren't going far—they hadn't packed clothes or overnight bags—so it probably wasn't too important or lethal. Whatever it was, he trusted Andrew. 

Ten minutes later, they pulled into a spot in the half-full parking lot in front of the local Home Depot. Andrew parked but didn't make a move to leave the car, though he did finally turn off the radio. He stared out the front windshield. Watching him, Neil understood: This was going to be the continuation of their conversation the previous night.

"We don't have to paint the walls," Andrew told the silence. 

Neil jerked his shoulders in a small shrug. "We can if we want to."

Andrew inclined his head in something like a nod. His fingers were twitching in their place on his thigh like he wanted a cigarette. 

The car was silent again. Neil was wary to break the silence, if only because he couldn't be sure what had motivated Andrew to start this yesterday, or why it was actually something he was seriously considering today. He didn't want to derail the conversation either, but couldn't find an unobtrusive way to prompt Andrew to continue.

It wasn't that Neil had anything against painting walls, he just didn't have any perspective on it. In his childhood, on the run with his mother, they had avoided causing ripples wherever they stayed. He had become a pro at going outside just enough to be recognized and not ostracized, being placed in the middle-level classes, and not leaving a footprint on their surroundings in the form of home renovations, of all things. Besides, they were usually too busy. There were better things to focus on than aesthetics, and Neil hadn't ever considered them as an option before joining the Foxes. 

With the Foxes, he'd been in a dorm-- no opportunity for painting there. After that, it was various apartments he'd shared with Andrew-- home deco had been low on the list of priorities, behind Exy and not getting killed. Now, with a bought condo and blank walls, would be the first time he would have the chance to make a lasting mark on a house. 

Looking over at Andrew, Neil wondered if it was the same for him. Foster homes and juvie had probably left little occasion for him to leave his impression on the walls. He probably hadn't wanted to.

Andrew slammed his hand down on the wheel with a smack. "We don't need to paint the _fucking walls_ ," he said again. 

"Sure, but it's our space, right?" Neil got the feeling he'd hit the nail on the head. Andrew's fingers coiled around the wheel, white-knuckled, before dropping loosely into his lap. He pulled the key out of the ignition.

He met Neil's eyes with his own. "It's ours," he repeated, and Neil couldn't determine quite what emotion coloured his tone—wonder? anger? nothing at all and Neil was reading too much into all of this? He wondered how quickly Andrew's mind was racing, pulling together scraps of information and drawing conclusions. After a second, Andrew continued, "people who are going to leave don't paint their walls." 

He pushed open his door and stepped out of the car, not waiting for Neil to draw conclusions from his statement. Neil followed quickly, trudging across the parking lot behind Andrew, whose hands were shoved in his pockets as he marched forward. 

"So, blue or green?" Neil asked him. 

He paused, waiting for Neil to catch up. Dryly, he said, "you tell me. I never took art classes."

Neil huffed out a laugh. "Orange, then. Nice and traditional." Andrew didn't deign his suggestion with an answer, marching away. 

"I vote blue," Neil called after him. Andrew flipped him the bird and walked faster. 

When he caught up, "452%" was Andrew's only retort. 

\---

By the end of the week, their front hall was painted an attractive light blue apparently titled "Summer Shower", as was a wall of their bedroom. Andrew hadn't even glanced toward the orange paint swatches, though Neil snuck a sheet of "Cantaloupe" in the pile just to see Andrew's face when it was discovered.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @[everythingsdifferentupsidedown](http://everythingsdifferentupsidedown.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Leave a comment to tell me what you thought!


End file.
